


this ain't a scene, it's an arms race

by hayleykiyoko



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, That's it, and being a government assigned bottom, gay panic! at the disco, i'm sorry i didn't mean for this to get spicy, poor ryuji's fixation on akira's arms, some dicky sucky, we've all been there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-07 22:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17969270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayleykiyoko/pseuds/hayleykiyoko
Summary: But Ryuji’s train of thought halts. Actually, the train just derails off a cliff entirely. Akira—Akira’s stretching his arms—and they’re so goddamnthick. Oh god.Oh god.





	this ain't a scene, it's an arms race

The sun beating down on Ryuji’s neck is oppressive. Why he wanted to go for a run when it felt like the inside of hell’s ass outside—he can’t answer. Sure, keeping a routine was one thing. Maybe it was the promise of inviting Akira and knowing he’d always say yes, or going out for ramen afterwards, or just hanging around his best friend. Maybe that’s why he endures it.

But now he’s beyond beat. The sun’s heat sapped all the energy straight through his skin, pulling the sweat right out of his body, causing his shirt and shorts to cling tightly to himself. He can tell Akira’s just as worn out by the way he’s panting, bent over with his hands on his knees. He looked like he was wilting.

“Here,” Ryuji says, tossing Akira a water bottle.

Akira exhales a breathless “thanks”. From his periphery Ryuji can see Akira shrugging off his track jacket. What is it with that jacket anyways? It certainly isn't appropriate for the weather, but he had insisted on wearing it regardless.

The air feels unnaturally awkward; quiet and stale among their heavy breathing. “Man, Chouno is really tryna screw me over.” Yeah, small talk is good. “I swear she keeps givin’ me bad marks just ‘cause she doesn’t like me.”

Akira smirks. “Well, maybe if you actually studied your English.”

What a typical smartass answer. Ryuji groans but he’s smiling. “Shut up. I dunno why we need to take these classes anyway. Not like I’m gonna use them in the future.”

“Mhm.”

“It’s so hard to listen to her too. She’s got that dumb fake accent goin’ on, and—” but Ryuji’s train of thought halts. Actually, the train just derails off a cliff entirely. Akira—Akira’s stretching his arms—and they’re so goddamn _thick._ Oh god. _Oh god._

It all makes sense. Ryuji’s hardly seen Akira without his upper arms covered but _good lord_ does he have assets to show off. What the hell. He’s speechless; he can’t even remember what he was talking about. The muscles aren’t defined, not in the way bodybuilders are, but there’s a good amount of meat there. There’s no way Ryuji could wrap his hand around Akira’s bicep. It’s too thick— _there’s no way,_ but Ryuji has the sudden urge to try, just to feel it.

He inhales sharply and he doesn’t pick back up what he was saying, he’s too weak now and too fixated on Akira’s arms. When he catches Akira eyeing him with concern is when he averts his gaze, swallowing thickly. What’s wrong with his head? Going speechless like that—he thought it only happened in fiction.

Ryuji clears his throat. “Uh—yeah. English sucks. Case closed.”

Akira nods in agreement, thankfully not pressing Ryuji about his choke-up further. There’s a cloud of hazy confusion expanding within the confines of his skull. Ryuji isn’t sure how he’s going to live now that he knows what Akira’s hiding under his sleeves.

 

—

 

Put quite plainly, Ryuji’s been losing his shit. He feels like he’s suffocating because now he’s hyper-aware of Akira’s thick arms and yeah, they’ve always been thick even under his sleeves, how could he not have noticed? He’s off his game. It’s distracting as hell.

There’s something deep in his chest, thrumming under his sternum, urging him to latch onto Akira’s arms and press his face into his neck, to be as close as possible. It burns how much Ryuji craves the physical contact, but they’re just friends and he can’t do that.

Ryuji was sure he knew what he wanted before the initial arm incident. He wanted a nice and pretty girl who was strong but not as strong as himself of course—he had to flex on his partner somehow. But with fog clearing a bit from his mind he realizes he wouldn’t mind Akira overpowering him and pinning him down until he couldn’t move, which was kinda freaking terrifying.

As much as he tries to push it away, the extremely unhelpful imagery continues to involuntarily intrude on his thoughts. Whatever fantasies he’s had was taken from him, morphed to where he was the submissive one, Akira doing everything he envisioned _himself_ doing.

Akira’s pretty quiet and reserved, but Joker—Joker would fit the role. Akira and Joker are the same person, and that knowledge shouldn’t be making Ryuji so excited.

In school he knows he’s been quiet lately, and he’s praying to god Ann or Morgana or Akira isn’t picking up on it. It’s just that he has a hard time talking when he’s busy staring at Akira’s arms. It’s so hard when he knows what’s there but can’t actually see it—if only Akira would just take off his blazer—a request Ryuji _definitely_ can’t voice.

They’re all up on the roof for lunch, and Akira’s already done eating, which isn’t a big feat since all he brings is Leblanc’s curry everyday. Ryuji’s been eyeing him cautiously in the way he leans back on his chair, balancing back and forth on only two of the legs. Ann’s too preoccupied with eating and Morgana’s too preoccupied with watching Ann eat, so someone has to look out for Akira. Of course, this is their fearless leader he’s talking about, it’d be foolish to think of him unskilled at anything, even irresponsible chair-sitting.

In a split second, Ryuji sees— _knows_ when the chair tips back past the point of no return. He lunges at Akira to catch him before he falls back and cracks his skull open.

“Oh,” Akira says, shock bright in his eyes.

“Ya gotta be more careful, man,” Ryuji reprimands.

Ann’s cackling and Morgana’s yowling about safety but it’s in that moment Ryuji realizes where he’s caught Akira: directly on his biceps. _Shit,_ he thinks. They’re hard as stone.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with himself, or why he squeezes down on Akira’s arms without thinking. His breathing shortens and he feels… way too warm. Under his palms and fingers he can clearly map out the solid lines of muscle, feeling them shift as Akira strains to keep himself balanced.

Ryuji scrambles to set Akira back, stuttering like he didn’t just grope his friend’s arms. He prays some more, prays that Akira didn’t notice and prays that he didn’t use up all his prayers.

Akira has a weird look on his face, partially frazzled from almost falling but also mixed in with something else, something inquisitive when he’s looking at Ryuji. “Thanks for catching me,” he says, although it seems a bit belated when Ryuji’s mind is running at jetspeed.  

“No problem.”

It’s all Ryuji can think about when he gets home. The only thought that will occupy his mind—touching Akira, and how he can find an excuse to do it more.

 

—

 

A Mementos run is really the last thing he needs. Ryuji’s pretty sure he’s coming down with something, and it’s raining hard outside _and_ it’s humid as hell. So humid to the point he doesn’t know where his skin stops and clothes begin.

But there seems to be some correlation between the weather and treasure they get in Mementos, so he agrees to go because Akira needs all the money he can get. It’s the most he can do to fight the urge to lay down on the ground.

The run is successful, more so than any other day. Everyone agrees that they’ve never sweat this much in their lives, but is it really sweating? When their bodies are currently just the metaphysical conjurations of the collective human cognition?

It doesn’t matter when the exhaustion they feel is real.

Ryuji’s positive Akira has no driving experience in real life, but Akira—no—Joker always takes charge in Mementos. They’re driving up towards the exit when Akira suddenly pulls over.

“What’s up, Joker?” Ann asks from the backseat.

“...It’s too hot.”

Right now Ryuji is sure he’ll die from heatstroke. Akira pulled over to _take his coat off._

_Damnit._

He never knew the grey shirt under Joker’s coat was _sleeveless._ It feels like a can of worms has been reopened along with many more cans Ryuji didn’t know existed. This is fine though. Ryuji can act like a human being.

He can act like a normal goddamn person when he’s so close in proximity to Akira’s arms in the passenger seat, close enough to touch them, skin glistening with sweat and muscles swelling from the exertion—

No, he can’t fucking do this. He’s not strong enough. Akira’s driving again and the muscles moving in his arm are clear to see. Ryuji licks his lips, salty from his own sweat, and looks hard outside the window because if he looks hard enough he can project his consciousness outside the van. Just to maintain some semblance of sanity.

Ryuji distracts himself with a string of curses in his head, fighting the desire to look over just one more time.

 _“Incoming!”_ Morgana shouts.  

The bus shakes as it collides with a shadow and Ryuji feels shaken himself, thrown out of the door and onto the grimy floor of Mementos.    

“How are there shadows this high up?!” Ryuji yells.

“No idea.”

Oh hell. Akira didn’t have time to put his coat on, meaning he’ll have to fight sleeveless. Ryuji desperately needs to focus on what’s important.

It’s not a new shadow and it must’ve just gotten up so far by chance, but Ryuji’s zios aren’t doing much good and a few blows with his pipe are enough to exhaust him. Morgana’s staying back as support and of course Ann is flawless in battle. Akira though—he’s the only thing Ryuji can keep his eyes on.

The way he moves is almost inappropriate, lithe but with purpose and strength no one would’ve guessed he had. Akira looks almost ethereal with how the lights glow off his skin, his silky hair, and it’s the last thing Ryuji sees before a hard blast against his skull knocks him out.

 

—

 

When Ryuji regains consciousness, his head begins to _throb._ He can feel it all the way down his neck and shoulders and right behind his eyes. Putting a hand to his right temple he touches gauze and an ice pack. Yeah, that’s definitely gonna bruise. A lot. Sitting up he notices he’s on Akira’s bed in the attic. _Did Akira seriously carry me all the way to Leblanc?.._

“Hey, lay down.” Akira pushes Ryuji on the shoulder.

Ryuji groans. The pain is overwhelming. What was he even doing before he ended up here?

“I’m sorry we couldn’t heal you back in Mementos. We ran out of supplies and power to use our personas.”

Akira looks actually… remorseful. Ryuji can see it glinting in his eyes. But over something as inconsequential as this?

Ryuji groans some more because moving his jaw makes the pain worse. “Man, don’t even worry about it.”  

Akira’s lips draw in a tight line. “But you’re hurt.”

“So what? It’s temporary,” Ryuji slurs.

Akira hands him a pill he got from downstairs which he graciously takes with water. He then puts a hand up to Ryuji’s forehead and oh, it actually feels really nice. Ryuji closes his eyes at the sensation of Akira’s cool fingertips ghosting across his skin, surging with heat from the injury.

Akira’s just inspecting the damage, Ryuji knows, but he can’t help himself from leaning into the touch with a suppressed whine. He doesn’t know what face Akira is making as he feels the hand lay across his cheek before torturously pulling back.

“You’ve been distracted lately.”

Ryuji’s eyes snap open.

“That’s why you got hurt, you know.”

“Jeez, warn a guy before you start lecturing him,” Ryuji grumbles.

Ryuji sees determination in Akira’s eyes and he knows he’s not getting away with this. Akira sits on the edge of the bed, inches away from Ryuji. “You can talk to me. About what’s going on.”

“Mm, ‘s nothing.” A lie. “Just been stayin’ up late to study recently.” An even bigger lie.

“Oh? And that’s why you’ve been staring at my arms?”

Shit. He’s caught. “I, uh—”

“Don’t think I never noticed. I just thought it was polite to not say anything.” Akira grins. “Though it seems my inaction has had its consequences.”

Of all times he needed that pesky cat to interrupt, he was nowhere in sight.

“...They’re nice arms. Anyone could see that.”

“Nice enough to look at all times of the day—”

“C’mon—”

“—nice enough to get knocked out over?”  

Ryuji’s face is way too hot and there’s no way that can be healthy. What is he supposed to say now? _“I’m hopelessly attracted to you and your thick arms and I need you to use them to their full advantage against me”?_ No way.

He finds that he doesn’t need to say anything because Akira’s stripping his shirt off. Ryuji watches breathlessly as Akira discards it on the floor and gets up to straddle him over his thighs.

“Stop me if I’m going too far.”

Ryuji swallows. “I’d be pretty pissed if you stopped now.”

That earns him a smile, and Akira stretches his arms forward as if to present them. An invitation.

Ryuji’s breath catches in his throat. Is getting what he wants really this easy? He reaches out to feel along Akira’s arms, and it’s just how he remembered from the roof—if not better. The skin is hot, almost searing under Ryuji’s hands. He squeezes down and is met with tough resistance.

Since when does Akira have the time for arms like this, and not to mention his poor diet? It’s not just his arms either—there’s clearly definition blooming at his core, being more toned than the average person's.

“I did gymnastics back home,” Akira answers without having been asked.

Ryuji chuckles and shakes his head. His pain seems to be fading slightly. “You’re so damn extra.”

Akira punishes him for that comment by bearing his weight down, making Ryuji gasp at the pressure. Ryuji can see now Akira is just as composed as he is; or he should be saying as uncomposed as he is. His face is tinged with red and lips are slightly parted, but his eyebrows are drawn together nervously, betraying the confidence he’s been displaying.

“I’m surprised you’re so fixated on my arms,” Akira breathes. “It’s like you haven’t seen yourself.”

“Huh?” No, Ryuji’s pretty sure he’s looked in a mirror before. At least once or twice.

There’s hands on his hips now, and thumbs circling the dip where bone meets stomach. This is… new. Akira’s hands must be electrically charged, sending jolts of energy up his body that strains the air in his lungs and makes all the blood rush to his head.

Akira keeps feeling his skin and eventually slips his hands under the hem of Ryuji’s shirt, inching up further on his body. The friction’s _good_ but _not where it needs to be, goddamnit._ He fights the impulse to squirm when Akira’s hands rub at his ticklish stomach.

“You wear all these baggy clothes, but underneath you’re hiding a nice body.”

“I’m not hidin’ anythin— _ah!”_

Both of Akira’s thumbs are on his nipples and he—Ryuji’s _never_ —but he doesn’t know _why_ he’s never because it’s so sensitive there and he’s been hard for a while but now he’s way harder than before.

Over and over Akira swipes the pads of his thumbs across his nipples, and he can see the movement under his shirt, wishing he had the strength to undress. He can’t stop his panting, his back from arching for more contact, his hand flexing against the sheets just because he needs something to grab onto.

Ryuji can’t stop the whine escaping from his mouth when Akira pinches and leans down to simultaneously start sucking the tender side of his throat. “ _Akira_ — _”_

“Too much?” Akira mouths against him.

Ryuji flexes his hips up. His voice sounds strained, even to himself. “Not enough.”

“Hm,” Akira hums and nips Ryuji’s neck with his teeth. “I’m not sure if you deserve more. You were pretty careless today.”

“What?” Ryuji gasps.

Akira sits up, and Ryuji doesn’t like the mischievous look on his face. “You’ve had me worried lately.”

Ryuji hopes he doesn’t look as desperate as he feels. “I’m sorry, it was an accident. I’ll pay more attention next time—”

“It’s not just about earlier. You’re spaced out no matter where we are. I really thought something was wrong, until I noticed the looks you were giving me.”

“Didn’t mean that either,” Ryuji mumbles. Being reprimanded shouldn’t be making him feel hotter, but here they are.

“If something’s on your mind, you can talk about it. Got it?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Good. I suppose all of that’s not really significant, though.” Akira begins palming at the bulge in Ryuji’s pants— _finally_ —and Ryuji bites down on his bottom lip. “You’ve been such a great friend from the start.”

Heat immediately flares up in Ryuji’s gut.

“You’re loyal, dependable, and I know you always have my back.”

“I do,” Ryuji grits through his teeth.

Akira increases the pressure on Ryuji’s crotch, and Ryuji finds that they’ve both been microscopically moving their hips in rhythm, though not being aligned quite right to get anywhere.

“You’re more modest and stronger than you let on, but I’ve seen it this whole time. It’s what makes you so attractive.”

Ryuji’s hips jump up on command, but they don’t go far with Akira still on his thighs. His head is way too light, he can’t _breathe_. He’ll blow in his pants at this rate. “You’re effin’ crazy."

“It’s the truth.” Akira gives a small smile, though he looks like he’s barely holding himself together as well. “Can I suck you off?” he says almost humorously clinically.

“God. _Shit,”_ Ryuji groans. “Sure man, whatever makes you happy.”

“Don’t be like that, I’m doing it for the both of us.” Akira scoots back so he can comfortably lean his head above Ryuji’s crotch.

Ryuji watches like his life depends on it. Watches Akira pull down the zipper on his pants, tugging the waistband to his thighs, feeling too aroused to be embarrassed about the wet spot already on his boxer briefs. He wants to groan when Akira runs a hand through his hair to push it back, just for it to fall forward again. It takes all his power to not lose it when Akira pulls him out and breathes directly over the head.

He begins with a few tentative licks before he takes the whole tip between his lips. Ryuji’s spine could break with how much he’s arching it, pushing into Akira’s mouth. He can’t tell if Akira has experience or if he’s just that much of a virgin. Either way, it’s enough to make Ryuji forget about his head injury entirely.

Akira’s being so gentle with him that it makes Ryuji’s chest clench. How he’s trying so hard to avoid using his teeth, the hand on his hip holding him down and the other at his base. Akira decides to suck _hard_ and Ryuji moans loudly before he can clasp a hand over his mouth.

That’s when Akira stops, and Ryuji opens his eyes he didn’t know he had closed.

“What are you doing?” Akira rudely squeezes the base of Ryuji’s dick. “I want to hear you.”

Ryuji has no choice but to remove his hand. “Sorry,” he whispers.

“It—it’s fine.” Akira’s face is tense, the tent is his pants even tenser. He uses the opportunity to unzip his pants and pull himself out, starting to pump over his own dick.

It’s stupid how much Ryuji wants touch Akira and help him out, but he can’t because Akira has him back in his mouth and he’s so _so close_ —

Ryuji’s holding himself back from bucking into Akira’s throat, and through bleary eyes he sees Akira’s hand speed up faster and faster until it just _stops_ and Akira moans around Ryuji’s dick as he comes over his hand. Ryuji feels the vibrations go through his whole body—it’s too much, way too much, and it sends him over the edge coming right into Akira’s mouth. “Ah, _Akira_ — _”_

Why didn’t Akira pull off? Where did it— _no,_ Ryuji thinks. _He swallowed it._

Akira coughs and rubs his clean hand against his mouth. “It seemed like a better idea in my head.”

“You’re crazy,” Ryuji repeats. “I can’t believe you.”

“You better start believing.” Ryuji sees Akira’s eyes shift downwards, and he looks down as well to see the stains on their pants. “Uh, you can borrow some of my pajamas. And we can do laundry in the morning since you already missed the trains.”

Wait. “What?!”

Akira smiles sheepishly as he wipes his hand on a tissue. “You were still knocked out by the time the last train came by, but I already texted your mom to let her know you were staying over.”

“Ugh,” Ryuji groans. “If only she knew you were impersonatin’ me _and_ suckin’ my soul out.”

“Don’t say that, I’ll get a big ego.”

“I dunno, it feels like there’s more things I should be sayin’.” But Ryuji just sits up and ignores the blood rushing from his head so he can wrap his arms around Akira. Somehow, this feels more intimate than when Akira was literally sucking his dick.

“I didn’t peg you as a cuddler,” Akira teases.

“Shut up,” Ryuji says before he makes the bold decision to kiss Akira.

He definitely tastes… something. He should’ve thought this through more. Akira sighs against his lips and Ryuji feels a different kind of warmth inside, so he figures that it’s worth it.

“We better sleep. You won’t heal if you don’t get rest.”

“Yeah alright, mom.” 

It’s obvious Akira’s too tired for snark, so he just pulls Ryuji down with him to lay in bed. With a clear head Ryuji can finally feel how tired he is as well. He closes his eyes contently and falls asleep with his face tucked against Akira’s neck.

**Author's Note:**

> so it turns out i'll look at my wips and think "i'm gonna finish this" and then i actually finish it. fuckin wack. i think i initially wrote this as a joke but you know how it is. not beta'd because i am the skeleton of a coward within a flesh suit. happy 2019


End file.
